Stranded

by Chance Carter

  “Please let him go,” I sobbed. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  “He doesn’t, does he? That’s his loss, I’m afraid, dearest.” Preston shoved me back down into the chair and gave a hand signal to his men. They stepped back from Shane, who was groaning on the floor. Wes gave him another kick in the gut for good measure, smiling like the cat who got the cream.

  “Had enough?” Wes taunted.

  “Yes! He’s had enough!” At this point, I was desperate to get Shane out of there. I would’ve done anything to help him. It was a minor miracle that Preston and Wes didn’t capitalize on this vulnerability.

  Shane barely looked like himself. He was beaten and bloodied, one eye already swelling shut. Blood stained the carpet underneath him, and if he weren’t taking wheezing breaths, I might have thought him dead.

  “Get him to the hospital,” Preston said, disgust lacing his tone. “The last thing I need is to have to cover up some baby hero’s death right now. I’ve got enough on my plate.”

  Two of his men picked up Shane between them. They were rough, and Shane moaned in pain. My heart broke for him, and it was all I could do not to break out into tears. I hung my head in my lap, unable to watch as they dragged him from the room.

  “Yeah, it’s Preston.”

  I looked up. Preston was sitting across from me again, his phone pressed to his ear. He looked up at Wes. “What’d you say his name was?”

  “Shane Kelly,” Wes answered.

  “There’s a kid named Shane Kelly that’s been causing me some problems. I want him gone.”

  Preston hung up the phone and sat back in his chair as calmly as if none of this had ever happened. Tears stung my eyes, and my nose was running like a faucet. It was hard to stay strong now. I felt like any strength I’d ever accumulated had been squeezed out of me, and now I was just a deflated sack. What was going to happen to me now?

  Preston stared at me, long and hard. A trickle of sweat crept down my neck, leaving a trail of coolness on my otherwise hot skin. I held his gaze, even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to back down. To submit. I didn’t even know what that would look like at this point, but my shattered nerves demanded it.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, Preston sighed. “Okay, Miss Keane. You can go home.”

  I blinked. Was he serious?

  Preston frowned. “What are you waiting for? Get out of here.”

  I clambered out of my chair and tried to walk as calmly as possible toward the door, avoiding Wes when he tried to catch my eye as I walked past.

  “Oh, Miss Keane?” Preston called.

  I stilled but didn’t turn.

  “Your father’s debt is nowhere near paid, so I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” he said, voice laden with frost. “Take care to be a little more polite in the future.”

  I reached the door and turned the handle, half expecting it to be locked, for all of this to just be a cruel joke. It turned easily and I let myself out. I didn’t look back.

  Chapter 16

  Shane

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I swam into consciousness, pulled toward a bright light and a relentless, steady beeping.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  My whole body ached. I’d never been hit by a car, but I had to imagine that this is what it would be like. I thought getting beat up before was bad, but this time it was worse. One of my ribs was cracked. Every time I pulled in a ragged breath a sharp pain exploded in my left side. The skin around my eyes felt tight. They were swollen, possibly too swollen even to open them.

  “Alright, son, time to wake up,” a gruff male voice announced.

  Was he talking to me?

  I got my answer a second later when someone’s rough hands yanked the heart rate monitor off my thumb. The beeping flatlined, but that noise died a second later. I struggled to open my eyes and managed to crack them just in time to see a police officer leaning over my IV and pulling back the tape. A second later the IV was out, and he wrapped a hand around my bicep and hauled me upright.

  I groaned in complaint, but the officer didn’t care. It annoyed him, more than anything else.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he muttered. “Don’t be a pussy. You won’t make it through the day if you can’t handle this.”

  What did he mean? Why was he making me get up? Was I being arrested?

  I tried to ask him. My voice came out thick and broken.

  “Wha—What’s going on?”

  He didn’t answer me. The only indication that he’d even heard me was the twitching of his handlebar mustache impatiently. I felt him yank on the strings of my hospital gown and then he pulled it down. A second police officer stepped into the room with a bag in hand. He pulled out a pair of pants and a t-shirt and tossed them at me.

  “Put these on.”

  “These aren’t my clothes.”

  “Yours were too bloody. Put these on now before I put them on for you.”

  I obliged, shaking from the pain it took just to move. To distract myself, I tried to ask them questions.

  “Are you taking me home?”

  No answer.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  No answer.

  As I opened my mouth to ask a third question, the one with the mustache jabbed me in the arm. “No more questions or I’ll take a shot at that cracked rib next.”

  I recoiled in pain. He’d landed his blow right on top of a tender bruise. I didn’t ask any more questions.

  The two police officers led me out of the hospital. One had a hand on me at all times, part to help support my weight and part to stop me from running. The joke was on them. I wouldn’t be running anywhere.

  They led me to a police cruiser parked out front and manhandled me into the backseat. They took the front seats and turned up the radio. Heavy rock blasted into my eardrums, and I closed my eyes, desperate to block out any stimulus I could and save my throbbing skull the pain. They obviously didn’t want me asking any more questions.

  We drove straight past the police department. Anxiety coated my throat and made it even harder to breathe.

  When we turned off onto a forested road at the north end of town, I realized where we were going. Back to Gromley’s.

  Dallas. Was she okay? I would have asked the police officers, but they kiboshed that already, not that they would have answered anyway. I supposed I would be able to ask Gromley soon enough unless they were just taking me out here to shoot and bury me.

  The police left the car idling when we reached the top of the drive, and a burly guy that I recognized from last night as one of the guys holding Dallas back approached, nodded to the cops and opened the back door. He didn’t wait for me to exit of my own accord, but grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out onto the pavement. He slammed the door closed, and the cops left, nearly running over my foot as they did.

  “Boss wants to see you,” the guy said. “Get up.”

  Pain shot out from every nerve ending as I tried to pull myself up. I was too weak, too bruised. I managed to make it onto my knees before the man grabbed me by the back of the shirt and lifted me the rest of the way. I groaned in pain but steadied myself so that when he let me go, I could stand on my own.

  That turned out to be a good call since he released me a second later and I stumbled forward.

  Despite the fact that there was nowhere I wouldn’t rather be than in Gromley’s house, I let his grunt lead me in because I knew trying to make a run for it wouldn’t do me any good. I was too injured, and we were too far away from civilization to do any good. Not to mention the fact that apparently the cops were on his payroll so I’d easily get caught again, and I didn’t feel like getting manhandled by any more dirty cops.

  A whole team of maids was busy at work on the house, cleaning up from last night’s revelry. I watched with a hint of amusement as two of them struggled to drag a passed out man off the carpet so they could vacuum undernea
th.

  Then I was back at Gromley’s office door. My guide knocked.

  “Come in,” Gromley called.

  We entered, and I took a spot in the middle of the floor. There was still blood there from where I’d been beaten unconscious the night before.

  “You look like shit,” Gromley commented wryly.

  He was seated behind his desk, hands folded in front of him and his lips drawn back into a cruel sneer.

  “Didn’t sleep well.”

  Gromley’s jaw flexed. I had the feeling he didn’t like it when anyone other than him made jokes.

  “We have a problem, you and I,” Gromley drawled. “I’ve got something you want, and I’m not willing to give it up. And you don’t seem like you’re the type to give up.”

  “I’m not.”

  Gromley nodded to the man next to me, who sucker punched me right in the gut. I keeled over, wheezing. The man grabbed my shirt to stop me from falling.

  “Therein lies the problem.” Gromley rose from the desk and walked around, his designer shoes appearing in my vision a second later. I managed to force myself upright. He was shorter than me, and I took great pleasure in staring down at him.

  “You’re going to leave Sitka Valley for good,” Gromley said. “You’re never going to speak to Dallas Keane again. I don’t even want you to whisper her name to the wind. If you don’t cut off all ties...”

  He cocked his head to the side as if looking to see where he could hurt me most. Having made his decision, Preston delivered an uppercut to my jaw. My teeth clacked together and I stumbled backward, lost my footing and fell.

  “And in case that isn’t enough motivation for you,” Gromley continued, kicking me in the side.

  I screamed from the pain in my ribs, spit flying everywhere. At this point, I half-wished he would just kill me.

  “I’ll kill your mother,” he finished. Gromley squatted down next to my face, meeting my eye. “I’ll kill her in the most painful way I know. Maybe I’ll even make you watch.” He patted my cheek. “Best not to risk it, eh?”

  I struggled to breathe, agony ripping through me every time I inhaled.

  “Got it?” Preston asked.

  I nodded bitterly.

  “Good.” He rose, waving at his man, who lifted me back to my feet. “Take him to a bus station. Get him a one-way ticket across the country.”

  With that, I was ushered out of Gromley’s office and out into a waiting car. The driver was silent the whole way to the bus station. Gromley’s guys were good at being silent.

  Once we got there, they didn’t waste time in getting me set up. I’d barely settled onto a bench before there was a one-way ticket to New York in my hand and the car was ripping off back toward the mansion.

  People gave me funny looks at the station, but nobody approached me. I wouldn’t approach me either. I looked like shit, and I felt even worse. I was starving, too. And, to cap it all off, it soon started to rain.

  This trip was going to be the longest of my life, but at least I still had a life.

  I managed to get some sleep on the bus, but mostly I stayed awake and stewed. I planned my revenge on Gromley—revenge I knew I was unlikely ever to get. I worried about Dallas, wished I could have done something for her. Anything. I worried about my mom. The only person I didn’t worry about was myself, which I probably should have since I didn’t have a job, a place to stay, or a fucking clue. I’d never been to New York before. Hell, I’d never been out of Washington before. Being so far away from home hurt almost as much as the ache in my bones, and my first port of call once I got off the bus would be the nearest payphone.

  I stared blankly out the window. My life was in ruins. Everything I’d once known, once loved, was gone. Worse, not gone—just gone from me. I couldn’t return to Sitka Valley, and I could never talk to Dallas again. I couldn’t even imagine what kind of horror show my girl was living through right now. Why was she at that party? Why would she let herself get caught up in Gromley’s bullshit? It didn’t make any sense.

  The bus passed a recruitment office. The sign on the front window read “CHANGE YOUR LIFE” in block letters, and the image stuck with me.

  Change your life.

  My life had already changed. It had changed so much I no longer recognized it, but maybe that was just what I needed—a new life. I could start fresh, work hard and make something of myself. I might not be a formidable enough opponent for Gromley now, but who was to say that I couldn’t be one day?

  It was decided, then. I’d start anew. No matter what, however, I would keep Dallas in mind. Hell, I doubted I could forget that sweet girl, with her honeyed lips and big bright eyes, even if I wanted to.

  Chapter 17

  Shane

  On the ride to Sitka Valley, my first time back in over three years, I found it impossible not to draw comparisons to my last journey out. Today I was on a bike, not a bus, and my body was whole instead of beaten. Before I had nothing, not even a clue of where I was going to go or what I was going to do. Now I had a backpack, an honorable discharge from the army, and a plan. One thing that hadn’t changed, however, was the subject which occupied most of my thoughts.

  Dallas.

  Each bump in the road brought me closer to her. Each turn, each waving pine tree, and croaking raven. I’d changed dramatically over the past three years, but one thing never would change. I’d made a promise to her all those years ago, a promise she never heard, but one I still intended to keep. I was coming back for her.

  Granted, Dallas might not be there anymore, but I had a feeling she was. Gromley had wanted me gone because I was a threat to his new world order, which for whatever reason dictated that Dallas belonged to him. Dallas belonged to nobody. I would show him that, and I would get my revenge while I was at it. Just because things had turned out well for me during my exile didn’t mean I forgot who my true enemy was.

  I turned off the highway a few miles before the Sitka Valley exit. Gromley and Dallas were priorities, but there were a couple things I had to do first.

  Mom’s trailer hadn’t changed much since the last time I saw it, nor had the park it sat in. These kinds of places never did change much; that was the nature of them. Hell, for some it was the appeal. Not for Mom. This had never been what she wanted, but raising a kid on her own when she already had so little to live off was hard work, and she’d done what she could. It was time for her to get some rest.

  Mom flung open the door before I’d even made it off my bike. She’d done nothing but rail at me when I called to tell her I was coming, but seeing me was another thing entirely. She jogged down the front steps and tackled me into a huge hug.

  “My baby!” she cooed. “God, look at how handsome you are.”

  I laughed and pulled back to look at her face. No matter how many video calls we’d done, it would never be enough. Being able to hold my mom again, inhale that sweet, flowery scent that brought me back to my childhood, was everything.

  “You look beautiful, Mom. Just like I remember you. If anything, you look better. Must’ve been good for you not to have me around, pissing you off all the time.”

  Mom rolled her eyes and smacked me on the shoulder. “I see you’ve been cultivating that Irish charm in New York.”

  “Aye.”

  She rolled her eyes but grabbed my arm and started dragging me up the porch. “Come on in, before you catch cold. I can’t believe you drove all the way out here in February on that death machine of yours.”

  I laughed and allowed her to lead me inside. She’d fixed up one or two things here and there, added a new coat of paint to the kitchen, but otherwise things inside were just as I’d left them. I had to wonder if it was intentional.

  “I still think you’re an idiot for coming back,” she said, sitting me at the table while she went to the kitchen to put on the kettle. “That Gromley guy means business. For the first year after you left he sent guys to check up here every once and awhile. Had to chase one of them away with
a broom once.”

  The mental image of my mom chasing one of Gromley’s bruisers with a broom was too much to take. I dissolved into a fit of laughter. She regarded me with a stern expression from the kitchen, hand on her hip.

  “I mean it, Shane. I hope you’re not planning to stay. I miss you like crazy, but it’s dangerous here.”

  “I’ve got a plan,” I told her. “Don’t you worry about me.”

  “Of course I worry about you. I’ve spent the past three years worrying that you were going to get shot or blown up. Now that you’re home I would prefer not to have to worry about the same damn things.” She sighed, pulling out my favorite mug and dropping in a tea bag. “I am proud of you, though. Reminds me of when your grandma used to tell you all those stories of Cú Chulainn and you would proudly proclaim that one day you were going to be a heroic warrior too.”

  This memory, as with all of the ones of my grandma, was faded at best. She’d died when I was only a few years old, but we’d been close. We had to be—Mom couldn’t afford anyone else to look after my ass while she worked doubles at the diner.

  “I’m not done yet,” I told her.

  “That’s what I’m worried about.”

  Mom sat down in front of me a couple minutes later and slid a steaming mug of tea across the table. I clasped my hands around it. They were still cold from the ride, and the burning ceramic felt heavenly.

  “I have a surprise for you,” I said.

  “Your last surprise was a phone call saying you’d been chased across the country by a small town psychopath,” she commented. “Not sure I’m ready for the follow up to that.”

  I smiled and shook my head, pulling out my phone from my pocket. A couple of swipes and taps on the screen later, I slid it across to her. Mom frowned at me, pulled out her glasses from her front pocket, and peered down at the image on the screen.

  “What am I looking at?”

  I started tapping through the photos for her. Her eyes widened.

  “Your new home,” I said. Then I reached into my pocket, pulled out the keys, and slid them toward her.